Växjö’s silent aria The missing Tome Thanos Kalamidas Three Constable Karl Blom Mysteries Author of the Polisinspektör Mikael Hansson series Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi Magazine Books Publication 2026 Ovi Project Publication - All material is copyright of the Ovi magazine & the writer C Ovi books are available in Ovi magazine pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: submissions@ovimagazine.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, printed or digital, altered or selectively extracted by any means (electronic, mechanical, print, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author or the publisher of this book. Växjö’s silent aria The missing tome Thanos Kalamidas Three Constable Karl Blom Mysteries The missing tome The silent inheritance The Evedal alibi Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi Magazine Books Publication 2026 Ovi Project Publication - All material is copyright of the Ovi magazine & the writer C Växjö’s silent aria The missing Tome Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi Magazine Books Publication 2026 Ovi Project Publication - All material is copyright of the Ovi magazine & the writer C Växjö’s silent aria T he Växjö church was quiet. Too quiet. Karl Blom stepped inside, boots echoing against the old wooden floor. Dust motes floated in the slanting sunlight. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing, that is, until Karl’s eyes flicked to the shelves behind the altar. A book was missing. Not just any book. A rare li- turgical manuscript, centuries old, bound in cracked leather and gilt edges. “Odd,” Karl muttered. “You’d think a book this old would just... vanish into thin air?” The old caretaker, a wiry man named Olle, shuffled by. “It’s gone!” he whispered, as if the church itself might overhear. “I... someone ...stole it!” Karl nodded, calm, noting the dust patterns on the shelves. Someone had hidden it ...cleverly, but not cleverly enough. And Karl, silent observer, had al- ready seen everything. Thanos Kalamidas The vanishing act Karl met Ida at their usual café. Steam curled from mugs of strong coffee. The morning sun slant- ed through the windows, dust motes dancing in the light. “Big day?” she asked, brushing a strand of hair be- hind her ear. Karl shrugged. “The book’s gone. But I think I’ve found it.” Ida raised an eyebrow. “You found a book that’s... missing?” “Yes,” he said. “And the thief? Not very good at hid- ing things.” She frowned. “Not good at hiding things? You make it sound so... casual. Someone stole a priceless manuscript, Karl. Casual doesn’t seem appropriate.” Växjö’s silent aria Karl didn’t answer. He sipped his coffee, eyes scan- ning the café. Patrons came and went, oblivious. It was exactly the way he liked the world, predictable, orderly, until it wasn’t. * * * * * * * * * * The church was quiet. Too quiet. Karl crouched by the shelves behind the altar. Dust layered the wood like forgotten snow. He traced his finger over the surface. A smudge. Faint, almost imperceptible, but there. He squinted. Someone had been here. Someone had moved things around. “Found it,” he murmured. The book was heavy, bound in cracked leather. Gold leaf glimmered faintly in the sunbeams. It smelled of pine resin, old ink, and... age. “You’re amazing,” Ida said, peering over his shoul- der. “I barely see dust, let alone crimes.” Karl smirked. “Most people don’t look.” Ida leaned closer. “And people who do look... what happens to them?” Karl’s smirk faded. He tapped the book gently. “They see things others don’t. Sometimes... things they wish they hadn’t.” Thanos Kalamidas She shivered. “You sound ominous.” “I prefer accurate,” he said. * * * * * * * * * * Back at the station, Karl logged the recovery. His handwriting was precise, methodical, neat. Every let- ter accounted for, every detail catalogued. Lucas leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, a mis- chievous grin on his face. “So... you think someone tried to sell it?” “Maybe,” Karl replied. “Or maybe someone wanted to make a point.” Lucas snorted. “Nothing says intimidation like a centuries-old prayer book. I mean, really. What’s next? A holy relic chase at dawn?” “Don’t tempt me,” Karl said flatly. Lucas laughed. “You always sound like you’re nar- rating a documentary on human folly.” Karl didn’t reply. He was already thinking about patterns, timelines, who had access. * * * * * * * * * * Växjö’s silent aria Later, Karl returned to the church. Olle, the care- taker, was nervously dusting the pews. He looked up, startled. “Found it, did you?” Olle said, voice trembling. “Yes,” Karl said calmly. “In plain sight. With a little observation.” Olle wiped his hands on his trousers. “I don’t un- derstand. I saw it there yesterday. And then... gone! Vanished!” “Vanished?” Karl echoed. “It never left. It was hid- den.” Olle’s jaw dropped. “Hidden? Where?” Karl gestured to the shelf. “Right where you always place it. Someone just didn’t respect dust patterns.” Olle blinked. “Dust patterns?” Karl shrugged. “A thief who moves things leaves traces. You just have to know how to look.” Ida, standing nearby, whispered, “You really do see everything, don’t you?” Thanos Kalamidas Karl didn’t answer. He was already scanning the church again. Something didn’t sit right. * * * * * * * * * * A few hours later, Karl’s phone rang. “Blom,” he said. “Karl,” Olle’s panicked voice came through. “It’s gone again! Another book! And this one... this one is older, more delicate... more valuable!” Karl’s stomach tightened. “Someone’s taunting us,” he muttered. “Deliberately.” Ida, standing beside him, raised an eyebrow. “Taunting? You sound like you’re reading a detective novel.” Karl didn’t smile. “I’m not. This is real. And the real problem? Whoever’s doing this... they know the church. Very well.” Lucas appeared at the door of the café, leaning against the frame like a man who’d just won a minor victory. “So, we’ve got a thief who likes old books and humiliation. Sounds like a weekend plan.” Ida groaned. “Weekend plan? This is serious, Lu- cas!” Lucas waved a hand. “Relax. Karl’s got it cov- ered. He always does.” Växjö’s silent aria Karl didn’t reply. He was already thinking ahead, plotting, imagining the thief ’s moves. Who had ac- cess? When? How? And why taunt them? The church was supposed to be a sanctuary. In- stead, it had become a playground for someone clev- er, someone bold. Karl smiled faintly, a flash of humour hiding be- hind his eyes. “Time to play the quiet game,” he said. Ida tilted her head. “The quiet game?” “You watch,” Karl said. “The thief moves. We’ll watch. And when they make a mistake... we’ll be ready.” Outside, the morning sun burned off the mist. In- side, Karl felt the thrill of the hunt. And so, the game began. Thanos Kalamidas The cat-and-mouse Växjö had a small-town charm. Cobblestone streets. Wooden shutters. The smell of fresh bread from the bakery on Fiskaregatan. But charm had cracks. Karl felt them as he followed the man. A wiry figure, jacket too big, hands stuffed in pockets. He moved fast. Too fast. Like he knew Karl was coming. Karl stayed in the shadows, stepping lightly. Crates, trash bins, parked bicycles, they were his camouflage. “Lucas,” he whispered into his phone. The street was quiet. “I’ve got eyes on him. North alley. Corner of Fiskaregatan.” “Do not let him see you!” Lucas’s voice crackled, a mix of panic and amusement. “You know what hap- Växjö’s silent aria pens if he spots you?” Karl didn’t answer. Timing was everything. The man glanced over his shoulder. Karl froze. The alley went narrow. A cat darted out of a door- way, hissed, and disappeared. The man slipped past, nearly tripping over a loose cobblestone. Karl took a breath. Step. Step. Step. He was close. Then ...poof. Gone. Shadows swallowed him. Karl cursed under his breath. * * * * * * * * * * Back at the church that evening, Karl let out a slow sigh. Ida had made tea. Cinnamon rolls. Steam curled in the lamplight. “You need a plan,” she said. “Or maybe just a vaca- tion.” Karl smiled faintly. “A plan is in progress. Vaca- tion is not an option.” Ida raised an eyebrow. “Says the man who almost tripped over a cat today.” Karl ignored her. He checked the shelves again, dust and fingerprints under the halo of his flashlight. The thief left traces, patterns, like breadcrumbs. Al- most like he wanted Karl to follow. Thanos Kalamidas Karl crouched. A noise from the nave. Footsteps. Slow, careful. “Hello?” he called, voice steady, calm. Nothing. Silence. He flicked the light switch. Nothing moved. Then a small piece of parchment fluttered to his feet. “Next time, don’t be late.” Karl frowned. He picked it up. Not threatening. Taunting. The handwriting precise, neat. Deliberate. “Lucas,” he said into the phone, “we’ve got a taunter. Not just a thief.” Lucas whistled. “Oh, great. A game player. That’s comforting.” Karl smirked. “Comfort- ing is overrated.” * * * * * * * * * * The next day, Karl returned to the streets. Early. Mist clung to the cobblestones. He paced the alleys, eyes sharp. Every shadow, every trash can, every doorway a potential hiding spot. He spotted the man again, this time near the old canal. Karl followed. Soft steps. Heart steady. Breath controlled. The thief looked back, quick, sharp. Karl ducked behind a market stall. Växjö’s silent aria “Lucas,” he whispered, “he’s moving west. Near the canal docks.” “Stay calm,” Lucas said. “Or don’t. Whatever. Just don’t get caught.” Karl pressed forward. The canal was empty. Fog rolled off the water. The thief paused, glanced around. Karl froze. Then, splash. The man jumped into a small boat, hidden behind crates. He rowed silently, shadows swallowing him again. Karl sighed. One step closer. * * * * * * * * * * Back at the church, Ida was waiting. “You’re ob- sessed,” she said, handing him a cinnamon roll. “You know that, right?” Karl took it, smiled faintly. “Obsessed is just... fo- cused. Focused works better.” They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the faint ticking of the old church clock. Then Karl spoke. “The thief knows the church,” he said. “He knows the layout, the schedules, the routines. This is personal.” Thanos Kalamidas Ida shook her head. “Personal? It’s a book, Karl.” “Not to him,” Karl said. He touched the dust pat- terns on the shelf again. “He’s leaving a trail. Not in- tentionally, but he can’t help it. That’s our advantage.” He studied the parchment again. Next time, don’t be late. Karl smiled faintly. “He wants me to chase him. Fine. I’ll chase him. But on my terms.” Ida smirked. “Just don’t let him push you into the canal this time.” Karl chuckled. “No promises.” * * * * * * * * * * Hours later, Karl lay awake in his small apartment, mind racing. Every detail, every clue, every shadow replayed in his head. He thought of the alleyways. The docks. The cat. The parchment. A plan formed. A trap. Simple. Elegant. And Karl knew, quietly, that Växjö’s charm might Växjö’s silent aria have cracks but those cracks made the perfect hiding spots. Somebody wanted a game. Karl intended to win. Thanos Kalamidas The Big Reveal Karl crouched behind a pew, dust motes dancing in the slanting sunlight. His eyes didn’t leave the low shelf at the back of the nave. On it sat replicas of the church’s rare books, stacked carefully, edges gilded, covers polished. Flour had been sprinkled around them, a trap for fingerprints, footprints, mistakes. Lucas leaned against a column, arms crossed. “Karl, this is either genius... or insane.” Karl didn’t look at him. “Mostly genius.” Ida stood near the doorway, arms folded. “Most- ly genius? You’re stacking fake books and flour in a church. Genius is not the word that comes to my mind.” Karl smiled faintly. “Efficient. That’s the word.”